Late One Night
by AndAllThatMishigas
Summary: Jean is used to putting Lucien to bed drunk, but nothing with that man is ever predictable.


**Late One Night**

For certainly not the first time, Jean was awoken in the middle of the night by the sound of breaking glass. She bolted upright, trained now as to the source of it; it used to scare her to a near panic, but now she felt only anxious concern. She knew what it was, and it always made her a bit sad.

She got out of bed and wrapped her dressing gown around her, tying it tight as she hurried down the stairs as quickly and quietly as she could. It wouldn't do for Mattie to wake up. Though maybe she was as trained to the sound now as Jean was, and she could sleep right through it.

Down in his study, Dr. Blake was trying to pour another glass of scotch. But he'd missed while reaching for the glass, causing it to fall to the floor and shatter. If only he could remember to just drink straight from the bottle, then he wouldn't keep breaking things. The thought drifted through his hazy mind. As always, he wouldn't remember it in the morning. He stumbled over to the cabinet to get another glass. On his way, he misjudged the distance between himself and the wall. He bumped it quite hard with his shoulder and felt himself bounce off, unable to steady his balance. He was thankfully able to break his fall with his forearm, but landed directly onto the broken glass. Not even the drunken stupor he'd put himself in could prevent him from feeling the sting of glass shards entering his flesh.

Jean reached the study and found him on the floor. "Lucien!" Her voice was hushed due to the incredibly late hour, but her shock and concern were loudly evident. "Lucien, come here, let's get you to bed." She carefully navigated the broken glass, making a mental note to come back and sweep it up as soon as he was taken care of.

Lucien did his best to stand up on his own, but he couldn't quite make it without Jean's help. "Thank you, Jean," he slurred.

"Up you get," she said simply, wrapping her arms around his middle to steady him upright. They shuffled together in a regrettably rehearsed fashion.

Jean was more concerned tonight than usual. He went to bed drunk more often than not, but he'd never hurt himself like this before. The blood was spotting through his white shirt sleeves.

When they arrived in the bedroom, instead of just taking off his shoes and putting a blanket over him, Jean sat him on the edge of the bed and held him up by his shoulders. "You can't go to bed like this. I want to have a look at that arm. So shirt off."

He blinked at her, having trouble focusing on her face. "What?"

"You heard me. Take. It. Off," she repeated sternly.

Lucien fumbled with his buttons while Jean went to the bathroom for a wet cloth to clean his cuts and make sure no glass was left. When she came back, he had been nearly successful in getting his shirt off. He was still struggling with his sleeves. Jean knew she should help him, and she would, but in his oblivious state, she allowed herself to take a slow, deep breath and stare at him sitting there in his vest. She'd noticed his strong, masculine physique nearly every day, but this state of undress was not something she'd seen in reality before. So she took a fraction of a second to enjoy it while he wouldn't notice.

But as soon as she allowed herself the indulgence, her senses took over. She gave a little cough to shake herself. "Here, let me," she insisted, helping him get his arms free. Jean then went on with the work of cleaning his cuts. There wasn't any glass stuck in, as far as she could tell. She glanced up to his face to see him staring at her with a dreamy expression. It made her smile. "Lucien?"

"Yes?"

"Why do you drink so much?" Jean knew only drips and dregs about his inner demons, though she was acutely aware they existed. Normally she would never ask such a thing, but as it was nearly two in the morning and he was unlikely to remember anything they said, she thought she'd take the opportunity to satisfy her curiosity.

He replied without hesitation. "The nightmares. They don't happen as much if I pass out."

Jean didn't know what she'd expected him to say, but her candor surprised him. She didn't know what to say. She focused back on his arm. The bleeding had stopped now. In a day or so, the cuts would be healed good as new. "Alright, all done." She let go of his arm.

Lucien found himself missing the feel of her touch when she'd taken it away. "Jean?"

"Yes, Lucien?"

"Could you pour me just one more drink?"

She looked at him incredulously. "No!"

"Please, Jean. I can't go to sleep on my own. Not tonight. Please."

She hated to see him beg. But she certainly wasn't going to let him drink anymore. He'd make himself sick before he passed out. Jean suddenly remembered what she had done her sons had nightmares when they were little. "No more drinks. Lie down. Get yourself comfortable." She pulled the covers back from the bed and helped him lie down. Once he was settled in the middle of the bed, she sat back beside him. "Close your eyes," she directed gently.

"What are you going to do?" His words were mumbled as the combination of inebriation and exhaustion overtook him.

"I'm going to make sure you sleep soundly." Jean reached over and began to rub his temples to keep him calm.

"You shouldn't be in my bed. People will talk," he said, a small semblance of respectability permeating from his wasted mind. But he gave an involuntary groan of appreciation for her efforts.

Jean didn't stop what she was doing. "No one needs to know," she whispered. She shifted her position to reach him more comfortably.

Ever so slowly, his breathing pattern changed. He'd drifted off to sleep. Jean's eyes became heavy, and she rested them for just a moment as she continued to gently massage his temples.

Lucien was woken abruptly. At first he thought it was another nightmare that had jolted him. But it wasn't. He had rolled over in his sleep and bumped into a person. Jean had fallen asleep beside him. Lucien had only the vaguest recollection of even getting to bed the night before, but he almost remembered Jean standing in front of him at the end of his bed. He moved his arm and felt pain. She must have been cleaning those cuts and fallen asleep.

Satisfied with that answer, Lucien allowed himself to indulge in the sensation of Jean in his bed. He'd always imagined she'd be soft and warm and beautiful during sleep, and she certainly was. Her shapely mouth was slightly open as she breathed. He had the urge to lean over and kiss her, but of course he couldn't do that, no matter how much he'd thought about it in the back of his mind.

As though sensing his gaze, Jean's eyes fluttered open. Upon realizing where she was, she bolted upright.

"Well, this is awkward…" he quipped.

"Lucien, I…I'm so sorry! I must have drifted off!" she sputtered.

He gave a small smile. "It's quite alright. You have no need to apologize. You were a godsend last night. I cannot remember the last time I slept soundly through the night and woke up feeling refreshed."

Jean scrambled to get off the bed. "What time is it?"

"Still very early. Mattie won't be awake yet," he assured her.

She just nodded. "Be sure to put something on those cuts so they won't get infected. I have to go sweep the glass off the floor." With that, she rushed out of his bedroom.

Lucien lay back down and rolled over to where she'd been sleeping. The sheets were still warm. And the pillow smelled like her. He breathed in deeply and smiled. He knew they'd never speak of this again; Jean was far too respectable and sensible to do anything other than ignore this breach of decorum. But Lucien knew it would take quite a lot for him to be able to look at her without seeing the image of her beautiful sleeping form with lips slightly parted, wanting forever to kiss them.


End file.
